


in darkness unbroken

by tatertatra



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragon Age Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Chantry-typical abuse, Drabble Collection, Dragon Age AU, F/M, High Fantasy AU, I made up a new faction of mage templars just to make the knights of ren work so enjoy, Mage!Rey, Not the healthiest relationship, Templar!Kylo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-06 07:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14052333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatertatra/pseuds/tatertatra
Summary: He hunts her until his mouth tastes of metal. The air sparks with mana, humming in his skin and in his teeth. The flies are worse though, an endless sea abuzz in the path left behind after war.Crows and flies and him. Here amongst so much death, hunting an apostate accused of performing blood magic. An apostate with a map to Luke Skywalker.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few things before we begin!  
> 1\. This is going to be a little darker than my usual stuff. The whole Chantry, Mage/Templar thing is a hotbed of discourse and unhealthy dynamics. It's fine, we're going to work through them. If that's not your jam, feel free to step away!  
> 2\. I'm fudging with the Dragon Age and Star Wars canon just a little bit, obviously, this is an AU. Hopefully it makes sense as you read. If not, feel free to let me know or ask.  
> 3\. I'm going beta-free for this one, so please bear with me.

_ I cannot see the path.  _

_ Perhaps there is only abyss. _

_ Trembling, I step forward, _

_ In darkness enveloped. _

\- Canticle of Trials 1:13

 

_ The Exalted Plains, 9:40 Dragon _

 

He hunts her until his mouth tastes of metal. The air sparks with mana, humming in his skin and in his teeth. The flies are worse though, an endless sea abuzz in the path left behind after war.

Crows and flies and him. Here amongst so much death, hunting an apostate accused of performing blood magic. An apostate with a map to Luke Skywalker.

The people that had lived here called her the Scavenger. A scrawny little thing that followed too-closely behind disaster, picking and building and scrapping. Until she made the mistake of  _ helping _ . 

The Scavenger had stumbled upon a Chevalier, bleeding out into the steppe. She healed him with her magic, and when the wolves came to devour them both, she ran a blade over her palm and the wolves ripped from jaw to tail in a bright burst of gore. 

In return for saving the Chevalier’s life, he sent a raven to the White Spire.

And when word followed that the map to Skywalker had been stolen from a Templar encampment near the edges of the Dales by a girl matching the description of the apostate, the Templar’s at the White Spire had determined that she was dangerous enough to unleash the Knights of Ren.

So he stares out over the steppe, watching spots of smoke curl against the horizon. Abandoned chateaus and villages, piles of bodies stacked so high they blocked out the sun when they passed, all burning in the wake of war. 

It’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

“The apostate was last seen outside Ville Montevelan.” Portia appears at his side, hand raised with a scroll, but not looking at him. Her mask covers the lower half of her face, sculpted like the jaws of a dragon and muffling the sound of her voice just so. She tips her chin to the north. “We should start there.”

He takes the parchment and unfurls it, letting his eyes drift over the messy handwriting. “Do we know how old this report is?”

Her eyes crinkled in smug delight. “Not even a day, ser. It came from Imperial troops scouting the area this morning. They knew we were coming.”

“If they know, the apostate knows.” His fingers crumple the scroll and he lets it fall to the ground.

Portia finally looks up at him, dark brows knotted into a scowl. “How can you be so sure?”

The question makes him seethe because it makes him remember. 

Somewhere out there is a whole line of apostates that share his blood. There’s no spell, no magic powerful enough to pull it from his veins.

He bites his tongue to soothe his nerves. “Apostates like her don’t survive this long on their own without knowing everything around them. She moves a lot, but this is still her land. She knows it better than us, and that makes her dangerous.”

Portia is silent a moment before she nods. “We’ll get her, ser. You have my word.”

“Good.” 

 

* * *

 

The Scavenger is a feral thing. 

She’s strong, wild and desperate, flinging out fire and lightning that makes the air smell of ozone. She swings a staff of gnarled wood and scrap metal like it’s a sword and clips Rook’s chin. It sends his muzzle of a mask flying and he crumples to the ground. 

She’s strong, but Kylo is still stronger. 

He ducks under another wide swing of her staff and curls his hand around it, wrenching it from her grasp. The momentum carries her forward and he throws his other hand out. He smites her, striking against her sternum with a flash of pale energy. The breath punches from her lungs.

Panic flares in her eyes. They go wide as she gasps, aware the line between her and the Fade has been severed. She pulls at the air to summon lightning again, but there is nothing. Just a gaping hole in her where magic used to be. 

It only takes a heartbeat before the panic in her eyes turns to hatred.

She howls in rage and spins into the space where he’s left his arms wide. He barely registers the movement before she sinks her teeth into the flesh of his bicep. 

A hiss of pain whoofs from his chest. He drops her staff to claw her off his arm. She snaps at his fingers as they find purchase in her nostrils and between her lips. Blood blooms beneath his robes; she snarls with it between her teeth. 

Then all it takes is a sweep of his foot to bring her legs out from under her. 

The Knights close in around them, weapons out in case she runs, but he has her pressed into the earth with his knee between her shoulder blades. His weight pins her to the ground. She makes terrified, angry noises, nails tearing out clumps of grass until they turn brown and bloody. It makes him think of a hare in a wolf’s maw. 

He knots his fingers in her hair, wrenching her up from the dirt until his mask his pressed against her ear. “Did you think you could run?” Blood pours from her nose. It stains her mouth, her lips that curl back into a snarl. The sight of her sets his skin on fire. “Did you think there was anywhere you could hide that I wouldn’t find you?”

“You’re a monster,” she spits. She turns for gore to splatter across his face. 

A cruel, cold smile unfurls behind his mask. “Yes, I am.”

“You’ll pay for what you did. You’re a traitor to your kind.” She wiggles, stretching her neck to look at the Templars around them. “You all are!”

“Is that what the rebels told you?”

She spits again, sending a wad of bloody mud onto the ground. “It’s what I know to be true.”

He laughs. The hollow of her collarbone is taut as her chest heaves. Sweat makes the little bits of brown hair around her face turn black and stick to her temples. Her eyes, a mash of earthly browns and greens, are darting around for an exit.

She is terrified, and for a moment, he almost feels compassion. So he buries it deep and tightens his hand at the base of her skull.

“You’re an apostate, and even worse, a blood mage,” he says. “The Rite of Tranquility is too good for you, you’ll be lucky if the Knight-Vigilant allows you to live beyond the gates of the White Spire.”

She thrashes beneath him. The edge to her voice slips, giving way to expose the fear beneath. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“We’ll see.” He brings his hand to her temple and smites her again. This time though, she goes slack into an empty sleep.

The Knights watch him as he rises with the dead weight of the Scavenger in his arms.

 

* * *

 

When she wakes again, the air is thick with the scent of stagnant water and human waste. It’s dark, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust, but she feels manacles against her wrists and ankles. The slab she leans against is rough stone, cold and slick with mildew. She blinks and the dim glow of a torch filters between the barred window on the door across the room.

The Templar is squatting before it, arms resting casually on his thighs as he watches her.

She sucks in a breath and jerks against her restraints. “Where am I?”

He cocks his head. “You’re my guest.”

She looks around, straining against the dark to make out any signs, any way to escape. All she can see are bare stone walls and a lone Templar banner. 

She is grateful, at least, to feel the familiar hum of the Fade at the tips of her fingers again. It’s weak, not enough to do anything with, but still there. Beyond that though, she feels the Veil. It’s thin enough to reach through, if she had her strength again.

Her mind is already churning with plans to free herself from this place, or at least die trying. She’d rather meet the end of a sword reaching for freedom than live in a cage.

_ Soon _ .

She flexes her fingers. “Is this the White Spire? I thought you said I wouldn’t make it past the gates.”

She hears him sigh behind his mask. He nods towards the door. “You’re in luck. The Knight-Commander feels you’d be more use to the Order alive rather than dead, so he pleaded your case. You get to live another day.”

She bares her teeth. Her mouth tastes of metal. “Be sure to give the Knight-Commander my regards.”

He is silent for a moment, watching her with an air of amusement. “You’re welcome.”

“You?” She snorts to cover the rising feeling of dread. “You’re barely more than a dog to them, a creature in a mask.”

Without another word, he rises. He is tall and broad, built like a tower himself. His blackened armor reflects the dim light like a fire over a horizon. He lifts the helmet from his head and she is met with the most peculiar looking man. 

The frightening part is the softness of him that makes him looks terribly, hauntingly human. 

The line of his nose is strong and long, but where there should be symmetry to the hardness, his jaw is rounded with easy angles. His mouth full and pink, eyes nearly black in color but bright in intelligence. All framed in a mass of soft, dark curls.

He is too much to look at and she immediately feels the needs to mar him. 

She swallows and sets her jaw instead, watching out of the corner of her eye as he approaches. His helmet clangs next to her as he sets it on a table out of view. 

He leans in close enough for her to smell the scent of leather and elfroot balm that clings to him. “I know you have the map to Skywalker.”

“And what makes you think I’ll tell you anything?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “You have strong survival instincts.”

Despite being in chains, she beams up at him. “And yet I’d rather die than become anything like you or your mutts.”

A muscle on his jaw twitches. “You don’t know anything about us.”

“I don’t?” she challenges. “So then you’re not mages, leashed by the Templar Order to hunt down your own kind? It seems a cruel thing to be. To be hated by your fellow mages and yet still subhuman to your brothers.”

“Then how is it I became Knight-Commander?”

“Fear and respect aren’t the same thing.”

Something strange passes over his face. She’s unsure if it’s anger or confusion or . . . _realization_. But just as quickly as the shadow appeared, it was gone. He takes a step back and holds out his hand. The tips of his fingers glow with green energy.

“The map to Skywalker. Where is it?”

Her tongue catches the seam of her lips. “I don’t have it.”

He leans forward until the sickly light is hot against her face. “You’re lying.”

“I burned it,” she says. She allows herself a glance up at him. “It’s in ashes now, scattered somewhere across the Dales.”

He lowers his hand. “But you’ve seen it.”

She doesn’t reply and stares ahead at the wall. 

“Ah.” His voice lifts like it’s a question. “You have it memorized.”

“You’ll never find him. The rebels will get to him first.” 

Her heart drops to her stomach when she realizes what she’s done. She’s walked right into his trap, distracted by petty words and the desire to prove herself clever. He makes a hum of approval. 

She refuses to give him the satisfaction of another look, but she hears him laugh. Metal scrapes against stone as he lifts his helmet again. The shape of him crosses across the light beyond the door.

He stands before it with his hand wrapped around the bars across the window. “I won’t find him, you’re right.” The door groans as he pushes it open. The light blinds her but she has nothing to shield her face from it. She squints and turns away. “But you’ll find him for me.”

He sweeps from the cell and the door slams closed behind him, sucking the hope from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AT LAST, IT'S HERE!!!  
> I've been working on this for months, trying to figure out what to do with it, so I decided to make it a drabble collection. I hope you all enjoy!   
> Special thanks to Kristin, Alex, and Victoria for being supportive of the AU from the beginning. <3  
> Comments and kudos very appreciated!   
> Find me on tumblr and twitter @ tatraas


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To be a dreamer is a burden, especially in a place as this.

_ The White Spire, Val Royeaux _

_ One Week Later, 9:40 Dragon _

 

To be a dreamer is a burden, especially in a place as this. 

The Veil is thin here, barely a net to keep spirits and demons at bay. If he allows his mind to drift, he can feel them pulling at it. They reach towards him with claws, with hands that scratch and tear and stroke. 

Sleep is supposed to be a reprieve. He didn’t know why he still expected it to be though. Every time he let his eyes close and his consciousness slip away, he woke in a place of ghosts. 

His eyes snap open to find everything is covered in a green haze. 

It never ceases to unnerve him how the Fade is almost identical to the waking world. The layout of the Spire is the same, the same walls and rooms, but the colors muted and washed in something sickly. It is the same, but more. 

A voice, soft and tentative like a child’s, echoes through his room. “Fear: bright, burning, blinding like the sun. You can’t blink past it. It’s in your skin, in your blood, in the color reflected in your eyes like your mother’s. You want it out because you can’t be it, they never even let you try.”

He sits up and looks around. There is nothing, but he hears it again, drifting down the hall. “Unwanted and abandoned. Waiting for a thing that never came. They weren’t good for you, you have better people now. Lonely, but not alone anymore. A family can be found. They wait, worry, watch. You’ll see them again, one day.”

That wasn’t . . . about him, was it? The words felt like a perfectly shaped puzzle piece, but the image was different, unmatching.

When his feet touch the floor, the stone is warm and humid where it would usually make him recoil from the cold. He calls out, “Hello?”

The door to his room swings open to a dark, but empty hall. He should be cautious to follow the Fade’s bidding, but this feels different. That, or his curiosity outweighs his desire not to become possessed. 

He rises from his bed and follows the direction of the voice.

The interior of the Spire where his quarters are is a ring of rooms, smooth stone floors with white marble walls and columns that circle a center common area. The hall is unending, pocketed with arches and doorways. 

At least, normally.

When he steps out, there is only one direction to go. The walls are covered with vines. They weave and bloom to block any way out. His heart hiccups in fear, but his feet carry him forward. 

“Where are you?” A familiar woman’s voice. “I can hear you but I can’t see you.”

A different voice answers. “The belonging you seek is not behind you, it is ahead.”

He rounds the curve in the hall and runs smack into the Scavenger. 

She scrambles back, hands pushing against his bare chest before she realizes who he is.

“You,” she seethes. “What are you doing here?”

The words tangle on his tongue. She shouldn’t be here, she can’t be here. Dreamers are rare and for the two of them to be together--

“How did you know about my family?” The tips of her ears and cheeks are flushed with color. Her brows knit together. “Why were you calling out to me? Answer!”

“It wasn’t me.” He finally gets his mouth to work. He holds his hands up in surrender. “But I could ask you the same thing. How did you get here?”

“I’ve always been able to do this,” she says. “But this, this is different. I slipped right through, and I’ve never seen anyone else here.” When she seems to feel herself ease into too-casual a conversation, her nostrils flare and she steps back, reaching for a staff that isn’t there. “Is this how you make Tranquils? Did you come to destroy my mind?”

It almost shocks him. He had threatened her, true, but the thought of severing her sharp mind from this place of power makes his stomach churn. Though he’s not sure why. 

Just another thing about this place to unnerve him.

“No, I didn’t come here to make you Tranquil.”

She stares. “Then you’re a dreamer too.”

“I am.” He hopes there is something comforting in the implication of the shared experience, in that maybe neither of them had ever truly known sleep.

A bit of the tension seems to bleed out of her. “Don’t think that makes me trust you, but how do we get out of here?”

“We wait.” 

But as if on cue, the vines blocking an archway to the common room wither. 

Beyond, wraiths and wisps float through the air like dust motes. Those with more solid forms turn their heads to look at the pair of dreamers stepping through the threshold. The spirits stare for a moment before turning away again, as if the whole thing was insignificant. 

The Scavenger makes a noise in the back of her throat. “This is a change. I usually have to fight my way out.”

Kylo glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “The Fade reflects the dreamer. If the spirits are violent, it’s because you want a fight.”

She glares.

Something dawns on him. “No, we’re not in your dream.” He watches as a wisp moves through her chest like she’s not even there. “We’re in mine.”

“Awfully full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Would you rather we be in your head instead?”

She thinks for a moment, but doesn’t reply. He has his answer though.

“What’s your name?” he asks. It spills from him foolishly. She is his charge, she is dangerous. 

And yet, there is a piece that runs through his heart that aches for her to trust him.

She scowls at first, sizing him up and trying to determine if he’s being sincere. He tries to relax the severity of his face.

“Why do you care?”

“Because we’re stuck in the Fade together until I wake up.”

Her hands curl into fists before she forces herself to relax again. “Fine,” she says. “I’m Rey. And you?”

“Kylo.”

She snorts. “No, I know that. But that’s not your real name, is it? That’s just what you want people here to call you, to make you seem less boyish.”

He scrunches his nose. “I’m not boyish.”

“Right.”

He sighs. “My parents named me Ben. Is that better?”

“ _ Ben _ .” She almost smiles. “Much better.”

He shakes his head and continues into the room. The furniture is covered in cobwebs, tangling between chair legs. A layer of grime, crawling with maggots upon a closer look, cakes the top of the tables.

He knows this place though, and the filth doesn’t faze him. And despite her reluctance, Rey keeps close behind him.

 

* * *

 

There’s a stone staircase that spirals the whole length of the spire. It seems an infinite thing, and as they descend, he almost forgets it’s not. Every so often, a torch of blue-green veilfire casts its light on the stone. They pass landings and doorways, each level blocked in someway. The iron hinges melted, the same vines as above twisting around the frame, or thick links of chain taut across the door. 

He feels the Fade trying to lead them someplace. Lead. Herd. Trap.

He’s never seen the Fade like this. Sweat slicks across his palms. Rey is at his heels, eyes trying to take in everything at once. She pauses to run her nail around the shape of a keyhole on a padlock.

“I had heard this place was a prison, but don’t you think this is a little excessive?” 

He can’t tell if she’s trying to make a joke, so he answers. “It’s not usually like this.” 

_ It’s not usually like this _ , not  _ this place isn’t a prison. _

She lifts the lock and holds the weight of it in her hand. “So you’re doing this.”

The lock falls out of her hands and she turns to look at him. The veilfire makes her skin glow in an unnatural color, like she’s a spirit herself. He briefly wonders what kind of spirit she’d be. Justice? Purpose? “What are you trying to hide, Knight-Commander?”

_ No spirit _ , he thinks.  _ Definitely a demon. _

She expects him to spar with her. She wants him to to get heated and say things he doesn’t mean so she can take him apart like he’s a thing to tinker with.

He won’t give her the pleasure though, so he bites his tongue and continues down the stairs. She only follows him after he’s a few steps down. He hears her sigh and the impatient slap of her bare feet on stone. 

There’s no way to truly know how long they follow the stairs down. Time passes strangely, unevenly in the fade. They could’ve been walking for ten minutes, or three hours.

A wail shatters the silence, shrill and young and pleading. It echoes up the stairwell from below. “No! Come back!”

Rey startles, hurrying forward before Kylo can stop her, and catching herself on the wall just inside the blue light. Like she knows there’s something waiting for her in the dark.

A rough voice follows from the same direction as the cry. “Quiet, girl!”

“Come back!”

“I know that voice,” Rey says.

Kylo’s stomach churns. “Who is it?”

“It’s me." She looks at Kylo over her shoulder, face pale and mouth agape. “Ben, why am I in your dream?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful to everyone, especially those of you with little exposure to Dragon Age, who left comments and kudos. <3 I wasn't sure if anyone would be interested in this.  
> Like I said last chapter, this fic is mostly going to be a collection of snapshots and drabbles. I don't really have a big plot plan but you'll start to see some things come together. As in, you'll definitely get answers to this cliffhanger ;)  
> A special shoutout to my bee, Kristin, who reassured me this chapter wasn't a pile of garbage. You're truly the best.  
> Comments and kudos always appreciated!  
> If you have any prompts or ideas you'd like to see for this fic, don't hesitate to hit me up!  
> Find me on tumblr and twitter @ tatraas


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